Send in the Clowns
by Titan5
Summary: This is my answer to why John is afraid of clowns. Spoilers for Doppelganger.


**Disclaimer: **Nope, don't own them.

**Summary: **This is my answer to why John hates clowns. Set shortly after _Doppelganger, _so there are definite spoilers for that episode.

**Note: **I borrowed the parents I set up in the story _Going Home_ just because it was easier. And thank you to Rogue1503 for giving me some good ideas and being my beta.

**Send in the Clowns**

By Titan5

"Mom, do I still get ice cream?"

Rachel Sheppard looked down at her six-year old son, pausing the search for the errant check in her purse. Wide greenish-hazel eyes stared up hopefully at her. Smiling, she made another attempt at flattening the rowdy bush of dark hair sticking up from the top of his head, earning her a scowl. "Yes, I told you if you'd be good while I went to the bank and the store that I'd get you ice cream. You need a hair cut, young man."

They moved forward a step in the line to the open teller. "Do not," the boy muttered. "It doesn't matter, mom, it'll still stick up," he said in disgust.

Rachel held back the chuckle at the boy's very diligent and very correct assessment of his hair. She'd spent so much time trying to make it lie flat for pictures and school and church that he almost ran when he saw her coming at him with a comb. She resumed digging through her purse, looking for the refund check she was standing in line to deposit. It really was time to clean out some of the empty gum wrappers and bouncy balls and other assorted stuff she ended up collecting from John.

"Mom . . . there are clowns."

Rachel turned at the sound of his voice, his tone sounding confused and a little concerned. Four clowns in bright clothes and make-up entered the bank and began to spread out in different directions, each carrying a bundle of colored balloons. In a matter of seconds, almost every eye in the bank was on the still moving clowns, now distributed evenly across the front of the lobby. When the first balloon burst, Rachel and John both jumped before realizing what it was. She laid her hand on John's shoulder as she sighed in relief.

But then balloons began bursting one right after the other, making everyone cringe and automatically step back from the clowns. It was then she noticed the guard near the door on her side of the lobby crumple to the ground. Frowning, she stared at him in confusion; a puddle of blood spreading out around his still figure. Nearing panic, she looked at the other side of the room to see a second guard also on the floor.

"Everyone down if you want to live," yelled the clown standing some twelve feet away from them. He had lime green hair and a sad expression painted on with a blue tear on a white face. "Down on your belly and no one gets hurt!" he bellowed.

With eyes glued to the clown and the gun he was holding, Rachel got to her knees before she realized John was just standing there, frozen in place. "John, get down," she whispered urgently, reaching for his arm and trying to get his attention. When had he moved so far away from her? Unfortunately, her anxious actions drew the clown's attention and he moved toward them.

"Kid, you need to get down with your mom or I'll have to shoot you too," growled the clown, bringing the gun up to point straight at John. The harsh voice sounded bizarre coming from such a comical looking character.

"John, please," Rachel pleaded, getting back to her feet so she could reach him.

"Don't move, bitch," the clown yelled, turning the gun on Rachel.

"Leave my mom alone!" John screamed, suddenly running toward the clown and barreling into the man's midsection. John was thin and wiry, but he was tall for his age and a lot stronger than he looked. Catching the clown off guard with the force of his impact, they staggered back a few steps as the man struggled to regain his balance. John pummeled the man's stomach and sides with his small fists, screaming, "Don't hurt my mom!"

Rachel moved forward, desperately trying to grab her son when the lime-haired clown regained his footing and jerked John back, shoving him toward his mother. John landed hard at her feet. Rachel had just dropped next to her son when she heard a woman scream from across the room. Rachel took John by the arm and began trying to push him behind her, but he fought against her, pulling in the opposite direction. It took a moment for her to realize he was trying to keep himself between her and the very angry and very armed clown.

"John, please! - let go," she pleaded as he braced his feet against the floor in order to keep himself in place.

"You better get that brat under control," the clown yelled, coming a step closer with the gun aimed directly at them both.

John had managed to struggle to his feet and suddenly stopped moving, staring at something over Rachel's shoulder, something behind the counter. She was almost too afraid to look around. "John, you have to get down," she urged, pulling down on his arms while he locked his legs to remain standing. He was so stubborn.

She allowed herself to glance up at the clown to see how close he was. He had stopped moving and was looking in the same direction as John. All concern over what they saw left as he brought the gun up. She jerked frantically on her son's arm almost at the exact instant the gun went off. She yelled as she automatically ducked, surprised that she felt no pain. When she looked up at John, he was still staring over her shoulder, his eyes as wide as she'd ever seen them, his mouth hanging open slightly and his face drained of all color. She realized the clown's aim had been over them, at whatever they had been looking at behind the counter.

The clown dropped his gun down to point at them again and took another step forward. "Well, kid, I guess since you gave me a heads up about our little trouble-making friend trying to warn the cops, you get to live a while longer." He looked down at Rachel and she shivered, not sure how a clown could look so menacing. "Keep that brat in line. Next time I kill him; no more warnings."

Rachel could only nod, pulling John down until he was in her lap, his resistance from before completely gone. His eyes were still wide and he was starting to shake. "It's okay, John, it's going to be okay," she whispered as she hugged him tightly before rolling him down on his belly and cocooning herself over him as much as possible without crushing him against the hard floor. She could feel the tremors running through his body and knew he was probably in shock. She continued to whisper softly in his ear, rubbing the top of his arm.

She could hear crashing and movement behind the counter, but never looked up to see what it was. She silently prayed that they would leave as a woman across the room sobbed and moaned. One of the other clowns snapped at the woman to shut up and then there was a muffled grunt, as if he had kicked her. More scuffling noises over the counter top, then movement away from her, towards the door. She wanted to laugh with relief; they were leaving – and she and her baby were still alive.

Her relief was short lived; Rachel froze at the sudden string of curses from at least two of the clowns. "Cops! I thought you stopped that broad from calling the cops," one yelled.

"I thought I did. Guess I didn't get her soon enough. Looks like we have a hostage situation here, because I'm _not _going back to prison. They'll let us out of here or we start killing people. And I have a good idea about who to start with."

oOo

John watched as Rodney sat down with his loaded tray. "Did you leave any for the other people in line?" he asked.

"Funny," Rodney said acidly, taking the chair next to John. Ronon and Teyla sat across from them, with Ronon giving an approving nod to the food-laden plate. "I haven't had a chance to eat all day, so I'm starved."

"Apparently," said Teyla, glancing from his tray to her own salad and yogurt.

Rodney pointed his fork at her. "Hey, if you choose to barely eat when plenty of food is available, that's your problem." He stabbed a bite of meat and stuck it in his mouth.

"Did you sleep any better last night?" asked John. It had been nearly ten days since the crystal entity had disrupted all of their dreams and John knew he had yet to get a decent night's sleep. He was pretty sure he wasn't alone.

Rodney stopped chewing and frowned, then finished his bite and swallowed. "Maybe a little better. At least I've moved away from whales and into other, really weird things. I think your clown was in one of my dreams last night." Scowling, he looked up at John. "What's with being afraid of clowns, anyway?"

Looking back down at his plate and poking his pie with his spoon, John sighed. "I'm not afraid of clowns, McKay."

"Well, you must be because it was in that nightmare thing with the crystal entity and he played off our fears."

"What's a clown?" asked Ronon.

"I believe it is someone who dresses up in bright clothing and colorful face paint in order to entertain children," explained Teyla, glancing at Rodney and John for confirmation.

"That doesn't sound scary," said Ronon.

"It's not," said Rodney. "Hence the question, why are you afraid of clowns?"

"I believe Major Lorne was watching a movie about an evil clown a few weeks ago," suggested Teyla.

"_It_!" said John, grimacing. "There McKay, some clowns are scary."

"So you admit you're afraid of clowns."

"That's not what I said," John said, trying not to give in to the rising anger and fear.

"Did you ever watch _It_?" asked Rodney, eyeing John in a way that made him nervous. John didn't answer. He'd never watched the movie because even the ads gave him nightmares and flashbacks.

Rodney snapped his fingers and grinned. "You didn't, did you? Because you, the ranking military . . . er, uh, rather the second in command of an intergalactic space base, are afraid of clowns. So what was it, bad party experience with a clown that wasn't funny?" he quipped.

John slammed his spoon down on his tray, trying to push back the image of a wicked looking clown in lime green hair waving a gun in his face. "They aren't funny when they have guns," he spit out as he got to his feet and jerked the tray off the table. "I have a meeting."

The team watched their leader storm out of the mess hall, their mouths slightly open. Rodney turned back around to face Teyla and Ronon. "What was that about?"

"I don't think you should bring up the clowns again," offered Ronon.

"Oh, thanks Sherlock, like I couldn't figure that out myself," Rodney snapped back.

oOo

Rachel shifted John in her arms and he clutched at her elbow so tightly she was afraid he'd cut off the circulation. They had been in the bank for almost four hours now while the robber-clowns negotiated with the police. The hostages had all been moved to the back corner behind the counter so their captors could keep a better eye on them. When they had moved, they all got a chance to see the body of the young teller the green-headed clown had shot. Rachel was pretty sure the girl's name was Mary and that she had waited on her numerous times before.

Rachel had carried John when they moved and the fact that he didn't protest went a long way toward scaring her further. He'd always been one to do it himself. She was pretty sure his first phrase had been "do it self". When they had gone through the door to the back and the body had come into view, he'd tensed and squeezed his eyes shut, pushing his face into her shoulder as the trembling increased. She knew then what he'd seen, even though she'd suspected before. Her baby had watched that woman killed in cold blood.

Rachel closed her eyes and tightened her hold on her son. "We'll get out of this, baby, I promise. We'll be out of here real soon," she whispered. She prayed she didn't turn out to be a liar.

The balding man next to her looked at John for a few moments before shifting his gaze up to her. He further loosened his already loose tie and tried to give a comforting smile. "He's very brave," he whispered.

Rachel gave him a small nod and clutched her son more tightly. He was brave and she'd been afraid it was going to get him killed for a while. The teenage girl on the other side of the man whimpered loudly and they all looked at her, willing her to be quiet.

"I've had enough of your lies!" one of the clowns yelled from the other side of the counter. The two gunmen watching the hostages jerked their head around toward the one yelling on the phone. Rachel was pretty sure it was the one with the green hair, judging from the voice. Everyone jumped at the sound of the phone being slammed down.

Green hair stormed through the little door and joined the others behind the counter. Even through the make-up, they could see he was furious. "They're stalling because they don't think we're serious. The only way to convince them otherwise is to kill a hostage."

A clown with orange hair, thinner and somehow younger looking than the others, dropped his mouth open. "You mean like just shoot one of them?" His voice was strained and higher pitched than it had been earlier. "I thought you said this was easy in and out. This is _not _easy and we are _not _out."

"Shut up! This is my operation and we do it my way. We've already killed three people, another one won't make a difference if we're caught, but it might get us out of here."

"So, who is it gonna be?" asked the clown with the blue hair. All four clowns looked down at the hostages sitting against the wall. The teenage girl began to wail in earnest, muttering, "We're gonna die, we're gonna die, we're gonna die."

"I vote on the noisiest one," said blue hair as he motioned toward the teen, resulting in a mournful cry that made the hair stand up on the back of Rachel's neck.

Green hair's eyes came to rest on Rachel and she felt like her chest would explode as her heart began to race. She wasn't sure if he meant her or John, but either one made her sick with raw fear. Green hair walked her way and reached down to jerk John from her arms and throw him to one side. When he turned back to get Rachel, John launched himself off the ground and rammed into the clown, knocking him down. Hostages scrambled this way and that, trying to get out of the way. One of the clowns panicked and shot his gun off, the bullet impacting the wall inches above the head of the balding man.

The teenager screamed and the sound of glass breaking joined in with more sounds of gunfire. The green clown had managed to get to his knees and brought his arm up, slamming his gun down against the side of John's head and sending him sprawling across the floor.

"John!" Rachel screamed as she pushed her way through the madhouse toward her son. There was an explosion and smoke quickly filled the room, but Rachel didn't care because she had finally made it to her son's still form. But just as she knelt down and reached out to turn him over, a vise clamped on her upper arm and jerked her to her feet. She came face to face with the green-haired clown.

"You're coming with me," he sneered, yanking her so forcefully she almost fell. There was so much smoke, she couldn't even see the front of the building. Her eyes were burning and tearing as she pulled, trying to get away and back to her injured son. The clown gave one hard jerk, pulling her close enough he could press his revolver to her head. "You want to die today?"

"I want to go to my son," she said angrily.

"You'll do what I say," he roared over the shouts and sounds of crashing all around them. He lowered the gun and she used the opportunity to pull away from him, tumbling to the floor when he lost his grip. A shot echoed from nearby, making her jerk her hands up over her ears. She watched a dot blossom out in the middle of the clown's forehead, the red making a stark contrast with the white face paint as his limp body collapsed in a heap. Rachel screamed.

oOo

John sat straight up in bed, drops of sweat running down the side of his face, their light touch tickling his skin. He wiped it away as he sat there, his eyes seeking monsters lurking in the dark corners of his room. He saw clowns for a moment, dark clowns with guns, before the images dissipated into the normal shadows of his room. Clenching his hand into a tight fist, he hit the bed several times in a vain effort to relieve his frustration. The nightmares about killing McKay and Kate Heightmeyer and failing everyone in the city had finally gone away, only to be replaced by nightmares from his childhood. If Kate was here, she'd have him signed up for sessions for the next six months. If only Rodney hadn't gone on and on about it, he might have been able to push the experience back in its closet. Now the clowns were out, so to speak.

Looking at the clock, John cringed at the red numbers. 3:46. Crap. He pulled himself out of bed and headed for the shower; might as well get an early start.

After his shower, John went for a run, starting out for the north pier. He needed something to focus on and a good, long run always helped clear his head. The burn in his muscles and lungs made him feel alive and exhilarated, like he could get through anything. He just needed to push the whole clown incident back in its little corner and not think about it any more. After all, what were the chances of encountering clowns in the Pegasus Galaxy? Again.

oOo

Rocking gently back and forth in the chair, Rachel clung tightly to her son's shivering form, in spite of the fact that her right arm was almost completely numb. Although the emergency room was a little cool, it wasn't cool enough to explain John's constant shaking, especially since she had him wrapped in a blanket. Glancing down at her son's face, lax in sleep, she couldn't help but wince at the bruise covering most of the left side of his face. Six stitches on his cheek had closed the wound the clown had opened when he hit the boy in the face with the butt of his gun. His bloody shirt had been traded for a clean, dry hospital gown and she could see the edge peeking out from under the blanket.

She startled badly when the door opened and looked down to make sure she hadn't wakened her son. He made a little whimpering sound and shifted, but then relaxed back into his slumber, much to her relief. Dr. Markham, a tall man with thick graying hair and wire-rimmed glasses sat down in the chair next to her, looking at John as she continued her gentle rocking.

"How is he?" he asked, his voice quiet and kind.

"Sleeping. He's shaking, even with the blanket," she said, looking up worriedly at the doctor.

"He's experienced an intense emotional trauma along with the physical injuries. It's not all that abnormal. You've been traumatized as well, Mrs. Sheppard. We have people here you can talk to, that I would encourage you to talk to. They can also give you some help about what to expect from John and some advice about how to handle it."

She absently tightened her grip on her sleeping bundle, looking down at his face. His brow furrowed a bit, as if troubled, and then he whimpered in his sleep. "All right," she whispered. She had no idea about how to comfort her son, how to explain what he'd seen. She was completely out of her element on that and would gratefully accept what help she could get.

"I've looked over his x-rays and there's no sign of skull fracture. I do believe he may have a mild concussion, though. I think in light of everything that happened, I'd like to keep him overnight, just to keep an eye on him."

Rachel's head shot up, the thought of leaving John alone in the hospital after what he'd just been through unthinkable. Before she could even comment, the doctor reached out and patted her arm. "Don't worry, you can stay with him. After what the boy's been through, I would advise you to stay close. I think he's going to need you the next few days. In fact, don't be surprised if he doesn't let you out of his sight."

Nodding, Rachel let out a long sigh of relief. "That's okay, because I'm not letting him out of mine either." She was painfully aware of how close she had come to losing him.

"The nurse told me you tried to contact your husband. He's overseas?"

"Yes," Rachel said, despair making her stomach tighten into a hard, heavy ball inside her. "They said he was out on a mission and to try again tomorrow." She normally handled her husband's long absences well, having gotten used to them early on. But not now. She would give anything to have him here, holding them both and making them feel safe. She figured feeling like they were safe wouldn't happen for a long time.

"Is there anyone else you'd like me to call?" She could see the sympathy in his eyes.

"No, no one. We'll be okay."

The doctor nodded and stood up. "We're getting him a private room in the pediatric ward and I'll arrange a cot to be put up for you. They'll be in to move him as soon as everything is ready. I guess the nurse has spoken with you about waking him?"

She nodded and then leaned down to whisper to John. He was beginning to whimper in his sleep as he shifted around in her arms. His eyes fluttered open and she held him tightly, assuring him that she was there with him. He pushed his face into her chest and mumbled, "Don't leave me," reaching out to cling to her arm. When he was quiet again, she looked up to see the doctor was still there.

"I watched the news report while ago. They say he was very brave, trying to protect you from those men robbing the bank. One man said was probably the bravest person in the building."

Frowning, Rachel felt the tears welling up in her eyes as she remembered her six-year old son trying to stand between her and a gun. "He's a little too much like his father sometimes," she said, her voice quivering.

The doctor nodded. "Still, you should be proud."

"I'm just glad he's alive, doctor. That's all I wanted."

oOo

John stopped running and bent over, resting his hands on his thighs as he panted. If he'd wanted his lungs and muscles to burn, he'd succeeded. After a few moments, he straightened and walked over to open a door and step onto the outside walkway. The cool breeze felt good against his flushed, sweat-streaked skin. Stepping over to the railing, he grabbed hold and leaned against it, his breaths still coming hard and fast.

The door opened, startling him, but he refused to turn around and look. He knew almost instantly who it was. "Ronon."

The Satedan came up to stand beside him, also covered with sweat but not quite as winded. "Sheppard. I came by your room, but you were already gone."

"Yeah, I got an early start." John had been hoping not to run into the former runner, at least not until breakfast or later. He'd planned on having his head cleared and his emotions safely packed away by then.

"You okay? Because I can fix McKay where he can't talk for a while."

John laughed, his friend's offer expected and yet unexpected. "No, that's okay. Rodney just . . . well, his mouth gets ahead of his brain sometimes. Actually, he does that quite often; surprising really, especially for someone so smart."

Ronon grunted and John took that as agreement. "Sheppard . . . if you need to talk . . . "

"No, I'm good," John said quickly. They stood in strained silence for a few moments before John sighed and looked down at his hands, clasped tightly around the rail. "Look . . . I just . . . I had a really bad experience when I was a kid . . . it . . . it involved some bad guys dressed like clowns . . . people died . . ." John rubbed his face, the old familiar dread and fear beginning to rise up.

"It's okay . . . I wasn't trying to –"

"I know, it's okay. I just don't talk about it much . . . or think about it for that matter. It was a long time ago. Mostly I try to forget about it, which has worked pretty well until now. I just need a little time to put it back where it belongs."

Ronon nodded. "I understand."

And John thought maybe on some level he did. Not about being afraid of clowns, but about burying your fear so that you could function on a daily basis. That was one reason he got along so well with Ronon. He seemed to know when to push, but more importantly, when not to.

"Race you back?"

John snorted. "And exactly what would be fair about that?"

Ronon grinned as he let go of the rail and turned toward the door. "Who told you life was fair?"

"No one I know," John whispered as he jogged after his teammate.

oOo

"Are you sure about this?" asked Rachel, looking down at the pale boy clasping her hand. He seemed to straighten at the question.

"I can do it. I've been out of school for three days now. I'll get behind." There was such determination in his small voice. The robbery had been on a Friday afternoon and it was Thursday of the next week, still not long enough for Rachel.

She didn't miss the way he gripped her hand more tightly, even as he tried to put on a brave face. The stitches weren't even out of his cheek yet and half his face was more black and blue than anything. His left eye was still slightly swollen. He'd been all over the TV and newspapers, with hostages telling amazing stories of the small boy trying to protect his mother. She was equal parts proud and horrified. The fact that they lived on an Air Force Base had limited their contact with the news media, but she'd been encouraged to do a press conference in order to show cooperation. She was positive that the Air Force liked having the son of one of their officers made out to look like a hero.

They arrived at his classroom and she escorted him in. The teacher had agreed to meet her there so that John would not be left alone. The school had readily agreed to keep an extra eye on him for the coming days until they made sure he was ready for the return to school.

"Hello, John, I'm so glad to have you back in class," the short, slender red-head cooed, reaching out to take John's hand. He drew back a moment, bumping into Rachel. The teacher stopped and backed up a step, looking worriedly up at her pupil's mother.

Kneeling by her son, Rachel put her hands on his shoulders. "John, you don't have to stay. We can try again next week." For a moment, she thought he might comply. But then he lifted his head and stuck his chin out, like his father when he'd decided something.

"No, mom, I can stay. Will you be okay by yourself?" The question and the serious look of concern on his face caught her off guard and she heard the teacher give a slight gasp. Emotions welled inside her until she wasn't sure she'd be able to leave him. Fighting back the tears, she straightened his jacket a little to distract herself.

"I'll be fine, John. I'll be just fine." She managed a smile for her only son. "I owe you an ice cream still. How about we get that after school?"

John frowned and he rolled his lower lip in a second. "We don't have to stop at the bank again, do we?"

She pulled her hands back to hide the fact that they had begun to tremble. "No," she said, hoping she had managed to control the quiver in her voice. "We won't have to go to the bank for a long time."

"Good," he said, and the relief allowed his shoulders to sag a bit. "I don't like the bank."

"Me either," she agreed. Leaning forward, she kissed him on the cheek and then gave him a hug before turning him over to his teacher. Leaving that classroom was one of the hardest things she'd ever done. All the way to the car, she fought the urge to run back in and sweep him into her arms.

oOo

"Hey, you guys headed to the party?" John asked as he met Ronon and Teyla at the junction of two corridors. Martha Stallins, head of the mess hall, was retiring and they were throwing her a party for her last night on Atlantis. She was due to depart on the _Daedalus_ the next day.

"Yeah, they're supposed to have lots of food," said Ronon with a big grin.

Teyla rolled her eyes and then smiled innocently at John. "I take it that is where you are going?"

"Absolutely," said John. "She's one of the few people left from the original expedition. I'm going to miss her."

"I'm going to miss her pie," said Ronon.

John grinned as Teyla sighed. "Yeah, me too."

They entered the mess hall a few minutes later to find it decorated from one end to the other. Martha was a good leader and her people had gone all out to make her last night special. Ronon made a small groaning sound as he spotted the food table and headed straight for it. They watched as he joined Rodney in filling his plate.

"Would you like something to eat as well?" asked Teyla.

"In a minute. I wanted to speak to Martha first so I don't miss her," said John, his eyes scanning the crowd. He waved at Ronon and Rodney as they turned around to face him from across the room. Rodney looked a bit shocked, almost like he was afraid, making John frown at them. The scientist then began talking quickly to Ronon, who also began to frown.

"What is wrong with Dr. McKay?" asked Teyla.

"No telling," John answered with a sigh. A flash of color to his right drew his attention about the same time a loud pop came from the same place. A clown. John drew his gun so quickly that no one had a chance to react. In a flash, the room went dead silent as John stood pointing his gun at a clown holding a popped balloon animal.

"Whoa, whoa, Sheppard, take it easy." John heard Rodney, but it didn't register. Sweat popped out on his forehead and his stomach clamped down in fear.

"Colonel?" Lorne moved up slowly to his right.

"John, he is unarmed. He will not hurt anyone." Teyla's voice caught his attention. He had a brief flash of his mother telling him no one had a gun when he had panicked at a birthday party with a clown.

Lowering his gun, John glanced around at the room full of people staring at him like he'd lost his mind. He could feel his face flush hot with embarrassment as he backed toward the door, thankful he hadn't made it very far into the room. "Sorry," he mumbled as he struggled to get his gun back in the holster. "I'm sorry," he directed to the clown, still not having any idea who was under the make-up. He couldn't take the looks any more and he was finally within a few feet of the door. As soon as he cleared the door and was out of sight, he ran down the hall and away from prying stares. So much for stowing away his childhood nightmares.

oOo

She knew she shouldn't have left him there, alone at school. Rachel had almost stayed in the parking lot, sitting in her car in case he needed her. But she hadn't. They had called her at eleven o'clock, as the kids had prepared to go to lunch. She hurried into the elementary school, still not knowing what had happened, only that she needed to come.

"Mrs. Sheppard." Roger Haines, the principal, met her at the door. "John's in the nurse's office. I'll take you to him if you follow me."

"What happened?" she asked. "Is he hurt? Is he sick?"

The chubby man with the bad comb-over was red-faced and obviously distressed. "I think we should wait until we reach the nurse's office to discuss what happened," he said. So she followed him down a short hallway and into the nurse's office. John was curled up on his side, his face streaked with tears, his arms wrapped protectively around his middle. Rushing over to him, she sat on the edge of the bed and touched his shoulder.

His face jerked up and he looked at her, fear in his eyes. "Mom?" he asked, his breath shuttering as if he'd been crying hard. He was trembling almost as badly as he'd been at the bank.

"I'm here, baby, I'm here."

"I didn't mean to . . . I didn't know, mom. . . I'm sorry, I'm sorry . . . I didn't know . . ."

Rachel pulled her son up into her lap and wrapped her arms around his quivering form. "What happened?" she asked softly.

"Mrs. Sheppard, I'm so sorry." Rachel looked up to see John's teacher standing beside her, looking a little shell-shocked. "I didn't know what was going on until it was too late."

Rachel was getting a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. "What happened?" she demanded.

The principal waved the teacher away and cleared his throat. "From what we've pieced together, Brad Cates, who sits in front of your son in class, has been drawing pictures all morning and showing them to John when Miss Walton wasn't looking."

"What kind of pictures?" she asked.

Mrs. Walton, John's teacher, hesitated a moment before picking up a stack of pictures and handing them to Rachel. With her arms still wrapped around her son, she flipped through several child drawings of clowns with guns shooting people and pools of blood spurting or on the floor. Disgusted and angry, Rachel almost threw them back at the teacher. "I hope he'll be suitably punished."

The teacher blushed bright red. "He will, but that isn't all. As I was getting them lined up to go to lunch, Brad told John . . . well, it seems his father talks a lot and told Brad that . . ." Her mouth moved a bit more, but sound had ceased to come out. Miss Walton was apparently quite disturbed by what Brad's father had told him and he'd repeated to John.

John pulled his face away from his mother's chest. "Mom . . . I'm sorry I got that lady killed. I didn't mean to. Brad says I'm going to hell for killing her and I'll be chased by clowns with guns forever. Is that true?" The terror burning in her son's eyes almost paralyzed her and it was several moments before she recovered enough to speak.

"No, John, you didn't get that woman killed and you're not going to hell. Brad is an idiot, and his father is a bigger one." At the moment, she didn't care how offended anyone was. John was still shaking and his face was white as a ghost.

"I'm sorry, momma. I really am. I'm sorry." He bowed his head and she could feel him weeping against her, his small body shaking with the sobs.

"He was so upset, he vomited earlier and we couldn't get him to calm down for a little while. We had to carry him here because he couldn't seem to stand," reported the nurse. "You might want to have him checked out."

Rachel stood and carried her child toward the door without looking back.. "I will. I'm not sure when or if we'll be back, but if we are, I want John in a different room than Brad. I don't care what it takes."

The principal nodded as he quickly stumbled to get ahead and hold the door open for her. "Yes, of course Mrs Sheppard, It'll be taken care of immediately and I assure you the boy will be punished. We've already scheduled a meeting with the parents." He spoke rapidly as he followed her to the front door. Everyone in the hallway stopped to stare as she carried her sobbing son out. "I hope John is all right," he called as she walked to her car.

"You'd want to hope so" Rachel replied quietly, not caring who heard her.

Once in the car, Rachel headed for the base hospital, wiping her welling tears away when her eyes became so blurry she could barely see the road.

oOo

Letting his face drop forward, John rested his forehead on his knees. He was sitting against the wall of his and Elizabeth's balcony, hiding from the world. When he heard the balcony door open, he expected it to be Elizabeth's voice seeking him out, forgetting for a moment that she was gone. Hearing Colonel Carter was almost like getting kicked while he was already down.

"Colonel? May I join you or is this a private party?"

John motioned beside him. "Grab some floor."

She sat down beside him and then he could feel her eyes studying him. "We need to talk."

"Kind of figured. So did you witness the meltdown yourself, or just hear about it later?" John had been so horrified at the time that he hadn't bothered to catalogue the faces in the crowd. He could still feel their confused, fearful stares.

"I was there, kind of in the back. I need to know what happened. And I don't mean why a clown set you off. I know all about the incident with the clowns who robbed the bank. I mean why you lost control just now."

John jerked his head around to glare at Carter. "How do you know about the bank?" he asked quietly.

"John, it's in your file. I try to be familiar with all my department heads and especially my second in command."

"But . . . how did that get in my file? I was six." John was wondering if everyone had files going back to when they were kids. This brought the idea of background search to new epoch proportions.

Carter chuckled a bit. "Your father was Air Force, right?"

John nodded in sudden understanding. The medical and psychological stuff on him as he grew up had probably just moved into his file when he joined the Air Force. That at least made sense. "Okay, I get it."

"Good, now tell me what happened. Does this have anything to do with the crystal entity? I know a lot of people are still fighting nightmares from that."

John ran one hand through his hair before tilting his head back against the wall. "When I went into Rodney's dream to help him fight the entity, a clown was there. It was pretty easy to push back at first because I was dealing with more recent stuff."

Sighing, Carter gave a small nod. "I heard Rodney's been giving you a hard time about being afraid of clowns."

"Yeah, a little. He doesn't mean anything by it, but he's like a big dog with his teeth in a steak. He just won't let go. He doesn't realize what those memories unleash for me. Now my mind won't leave it alone . . . the balloon and the sight of a clown just startled me, caught me off guard."

They sat in silence for a moment before Carter looked back at him. "Would you have shot him?"

Sighing, John shook his head. "I don't think so. It was a startle reflex thing, that's all. I wasn't hallucinating. I knew where I was. The balloon popping startled me and I admit, having a clown there had me on high alert. After serving in the military for half my life, my reflexes usually involve drawing a weapon. But I don't fire on reflex, I fire on what I know. I don't honestly think I would have shot him under any circumstances." After a brief pause, he turned to look at her. "Have I bought myself a one-way ticket on the _Daedalus _tomorrow?"

Shaking her head, Carter smiled at John. "No, I don't think that will be necessary. But you will need to talk to someone about what happened."

John snorted. "Who would you suggest? Kate's . . . Kate's gone and we don't have a replacement yet."

"I know. We're supposed to get one on the next run of the _Daedalus, _but that will be a while. If you think you have this under control and you do a couple of things for me, we'll put it off until then unless something else happens."

"What kind of things?" he asked suspiciously.

"One, I want you to report to Dr. Keller for a physical in the morning."

Snorting loudly, John shook his head. "I'm not sick and I don't need a physical."

Carter's expression hardened a bit. "John, you just had an encounter with an alien being that is still affecting half the base. We have no idea if there are long term effects and we have no experiences to compare this to. You're probably right, this is probably not physical. But I think it prudent to at least check."

Rubbing his temple against the building headache, John gave a curt nod. "Fine, I'll go to the infirmary first thing in the morning."

Carter visibly relaxed a little. "Good. Second, you're off duty for a couple of days at least, pending Dr. Keller's report."

"What? Why?"

"Because, you just pulled a gun in the middle of a party and threatened Dr. Wallace because he was dressed like a clown."

"That was Dr. Wallace?"

"John."

"Fine." John was getting angrier by the minute and he didn't know why. Everything she had said so far was right. He was lucky he wasn't packing his bags for a one way trip to the loony bin. Taking a couple of days off was getting off easy for what he'd done.

"John, I'm not punishing you. You need sleep. Your bags are getting bags and it's obvious you're exhausted. I think it would be a good idea for your whole team to get some rest, so I think I'll put all of you on stand-down for a few days."

"Gee . . . thanks." More days of nothing to do but think about how screwed up he was. Wonderful.

"Take some time with your team, John. Do something fun, just because you can. We live the kind of life where we aren't guaranteed tomorrow, even more so than the average person. We live minute to minute and sometimes . . . you look back on someone you've lost and wish you'd spent more time with them, you know?"

Images of Elizabeth and Carson immediately flashed in his mind and he let his face drop down to his knees again. "Yeah," he whispered. "I think I might just know a thing or two about that…"

oOo

Joe Sheppard sat in the chair beside his son's bed, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, listening to the occasional whimper as the child dreamed. He leaned forward during those times and gently rubbed the boy's arm, speaking softly to him. He'd only been home a few hours and he'd spent most of it here, watching his son's drugged sleep.

When Rachel had called him the day after the robbery, he'd been tired and hurting after losing two men on a useless mission. He was still swimming in guilt and not in the mood to comfort, especially when he found out they were both physically all right. He'd basically told her to buck up and be tough because there was nothing he could do from halfway around the world. He'd regretted those words within hours of saying them.

The second time she'd called from the hospital several days later, telling him that John had to be sedated in order to calm him down. A six year old child having to be sedated could not be good. After explaining what had happened, he'd felt like a jerk for not going home after her first call. After a brief discussion with his CO, he'd been given his upcoming leave time early so he could be with his family now, when they needed him.

John stirred and then bolted upright in the bed with a terrified cry, his breath coming in heaving gasps as he snapped his head around to scan the room. He was visibly shaking.

"John," Joe said softly, hoping not to further startle his son.

The boy jumped anyway and scooted away as he turned. His eyes rested on his father and he froze, pausing for just a moment before pushing forward toward Joe. "Dad?" he said in a small, weak voice.

Joe leaned over to scoop the thin body off the bed and wrap his arms around the shivering, frightened boy. Rachel had told him that John seemed cold all the time, always shivering and asking for another blanket. He reached over and snagged the edge of the extra blanket on top of the spread and wrapped it around his son.

"I'm here, John, I'm here. I've got nearly two weeks to spend with you and your mom." He realized the boy was crying and he held him more tightly to his chest, fighting the burning in his own eyes. He'd been off defending his country and his countrymen had attacked his family, almost killing them from the reports he'd heard.

After a few moments, John grew still and quiet and he wondered if the boy had drifted off to sleep. Then John leaned back a little and rubbed his face, looking up at his father. "Sorry, Dad. I'm sorry."

Joe pushed the damp hair back off John's face, silently noting the boy needed a haircut again. "Why are you sorry?"

"Crying. Not very brave."

Joe chuckled a little. "John, crying doesn't mean you aren't brave. Even grown men cry sometimes. I'd say what happened to you makes a pretty good reason to cry. Besides, I've heard you were real brave. Your mom told me about you trying to protect her."

John kept his head hung low, looking down at his lap as if he was ashamed. "I wasn't brave, I was scared."

Putting his finger under his son's chin, Joe gently lifted to raise the boy's face up where he could see him. "Son, being brave doesn't mean you aren't afraid. The opposite actually. Being brave usually involves doing what you need to do, even though you're scared to death."

A frown slowly spread across the boy's features. "But you aren't afraid."

"Well, whoever told you that is wrong. I'm afraid all the time. I was very afraid when your mom told me what happened to you. It scares me to think about something bad happening to you or your mom."

John continued to study his father's face for a few seconds and then looked down again. "I did a bad thing."

"Are you talking about what that Brad kid told you?" His son nodded and he was surprised at the anger he felt toward a boy he'd never even met. Realistically, he needed to direct his anger at the boy's father, something he was still entertaining doing in person. "John, you didn't do anything wrong. You didn't . . . shoot that woman, the robber did."

Tears welled up in the greenish eyes and then spilled over to run down his cheek. "But he wouldn't have shot her if he didn't see me looking at her. I'm sorry, dad, I didn't know. I was just worried about her moving around back there and he saw me looking and he shot the gun at her. She died, dad, she died."

Joe had started rubbing his son's back as the boy's voice became quicker and more panicked sounding and he was beginning to understand why his wife had been so frantic. "John, it's okay, you need to calm down. Try to slow down your breathing." He waited until John seemed to calm down a bit before continuing. "Do you know for certain that the robber saw the woman because of you?"

Pulling in a shuddering breath, John shook his head. "No . . . he just said he did."

"Okay, then. First of all, he may have seen her anyway, even if you hadn't been looking that way. Second, it doesn't really matter how or why he saw her, you weren't doing anything wrong. John, this happened because some bad men had guns and no respect for life, not because of anything you did or didn't do. They were going to rob that bank and kill people whether you were there or not. And there was nothing you could do to stop it. Do you understand?"

John slumped in his father's arms and leaned his head against his shoulder, curling his arms up against his chest. "I understand… and I'm glad you're here."

"Me too. And we've cleared it with your school. You can stay home with me and your mom while I'm here. Mom will go up and get some work every couple of days so you don't get too far behind, but we can all be together while I'm home."

"I wish you didn't have to go back. Maybe if you asked them, they'd let you stay home with me and mom, so _you_ could protect us. I didn't do a very good job."

Joe closed his eyes as he rested his chin on John's head. "Son, you did a fine job and I couldn't be prouder." He didn't have the heart to scold the boy for putting himself in such danger. That was another lesson for another day. Because as he held tightly onto his trembling child, wishing with everything in him that he didn't have to leave him behind in a few days, he truly was as proud as a father could be.

oOo

John jerked awake, not even sure what had awakened him. He lay still for a moment, listening while his eyes searched the semi-dark room. When nothing presented itself, he sat up and looked over at the clock. It was almost six in the evening. He'd spent the morning in the infirmary while Keller ran a myriad of tests on him. After barely sleeping the night before, he'd come back to his quarters and crashed, not even needing the pills she'd give him to help him sleep. He hadn't bothered to tell her that he'd have to be pretty desperate to take them and he didn't think he was there yet.

Standing, he made a brief visit to the bathroom before pacing around the room. He kept glancing in the corners and thinking he heard noises. _Get a grip, Sheppard, there's nothing in here. You KNOW there's nothing in here, so buck up._

A few more moments of pacing didn't calm his jittery nerves and the more time went by, the more unsafe he felt. There was one place he always felt safe. Jumper One. He'd just decided to go there, using whatever excuse he could come up with to have a reason to sit there for a while. He just needed to calm his nerves and he'd be okay. As he opened the door, he stopped short at the sight of his team, Rodney's arm in the air poised to knock.

"Oh . . . I was just going to knock," said the scientist, suddenly looking sheepishly at his hand and dropping his arm. "We didn't see you in the mess, so we brought food in case you were hungry."

Ronon carried a tray with a wrapped sandwich, a package of chips, and a brownie. John stepped back and motioned for them to come in. "Thanks . . . uh, I haven't eaten yet. Just woke up actually. Keller thought I needed a nap." He diverted his eyes as they filed in, still embarrassed by his little display the night before.

John muttered, "Thanks," as Ronon set the tray of food on his table. This was followed by all of them standing through a long, awkward silence.

"What did Keller have to say?" asked Rodney.

"Rodney," said Teyla in a warning voice, narrowing her eyes a little at the scientist.

"It's okay," said John. "She's still waiting on some of the results, but basically I'm exhausted and not eating properly lately. I'm grounded until she thinks I've snacked and napped enough. The good news is that there's no sign of lingering effects from the crystal."

"That's good," said Ronon. "I saw Colonel Carter today and she said we could all use some more rest, so she wants us all to take a few days."

"That is not a bad idea," said Teyla. "None of us have been sleeping well lately."

"We thought we might watch a movie after you've eaten, if you're interested," said Ronon.

John remembered what Carter had said and he looked at each of them, finding it unbearable to imagine losing any one of them. And yet realistically, it was not only possible, it was probable. "I'd like that. Just . . . no clown movies." He'd meant it as a joke, but it fell flat with all of them.

"Look," said Rodney. "I, uh, well, I'm sorry I pushed you about the clown thing. I should have just minded my own business."

Looking at the scientist a moment, John let out a deep breath and shook his head. "No, you're a member of my team. That makes it your business." Ignoring the surprised looks, he picked up the old, yellowed newspaper clipping he'd pulled out earlier to read and handed it to Rodney. He'd found it in his mother's things after she'd died and he'd kept it for some reason. "This should clear a few things up. If you have any questions . . . well, you know where to find me."

Taking the old paper, Rodney looked down at the lengthy article accompanied by several pictures. He focused in on one and pointed to the boy being carried out of the bank by a police officer. "Is that you?"

John nodded, noticing Rodney now glancing over the clowns being taken into custody in another photo. "Oh, crap," the scientist whispered.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, John walked over to sit at the table and nibble at his sandwich while his team read the article and studied the pictures. When they were done, Teyla came over and leaned over, touching her head to his. "John . . . we did not know."

"I know . . . I don't exactly advertise. Look, I don't want you guys, you know, feeling sorry for me or anything. It was a long time ago. To be honest, I haven't thought much about it in years. Maybe that's why having it shoved in my face like this kind of . . . freaked me out a little."

Rodney walked over to set the article down on the table in front of John. "Okay, I was wrong. Clowns are scary." He shivered a bit. "Now I think _I'm_ going to have nightmares."

"You guys know I'd never do anything to put you in danger, right?" said John, hoping they understood how deeply he felt about that. "If at any point I thought I'd hurt anyone, I'd have taken myself off duty."

"We know," said Teyla firmly. "John, we trust you, because we know you."

Feeling the release of some of the tension, John let out a long breath. "I just need a little time to put things back in perspective. And I guess Keller's right about needing some real sleep as well."

"We need a comedy, something to make us laugh our . . . uh, laugh our rears off," observed Rodney.

John stood up and grinned. "I have just the thing." Walking over to a shelf, he rummaged through a stack of DVDs, finally bringing one out and handing it to Rodney. The scientist rolled his eyes.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"What is it?" asked Ronon.

"_Robin Hood: Men in Tights," _said Rodney with a deep, heartfelt sigh. "Well, I'm not sure how funny it is, but it's definitely silly."

"Hey! It's a classic," retorted John.

"Yeah, classic _what_ is the question," answered the scientist.

"Hey, at least there are no clowns," said John. Looking around at his friends, he grinned broadly. He was starting to think Carter had it right. Some down time with his friends could be a good thing. "We should teach Ronon and Teyla to bowl tomorrow."

Rodney shook his head and touched his forehead as if he had a headache. "I don't even want to know how you plan to do that."

THE END.


End file.
